


lost boy.

by leviathanchronicles



Series: TMoCP Character Studies [3]
Category: The Miseducation of Cameron Post - Emily M. Danforth
Genre: Abuse, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Lowercase, Religious Conflict, mental breakdowns, yes another mark study. groundbreaking i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathanchronicles/pseuds/leviathanchronicles
Summary: everything always seems worse in the middle of the night.





	lost boy.

**Author's Note:**

> i gotta be honest i wrote this in like 2017 but i feel bad that i haven't updated this series in like eight months jkasf sorry! please take this temporary thing and/or entertain yourself w the other fics i've written. this isn't esp well done but that's FINE 
> 
> i'm planning to do studies for erin and helen soon BUT if you have any particular characters, topics, or events you want me to write abt just lmk!!

it is the middle of the night when it’s the worst. he wakes up, and the house is dark, and everything is so quiet.

( his house is always so quiet, especially considering it is host to two teenage boys and anyone from the church who needs a place to spend the night, but that is a problem for another night )

* * *

he is of the firm belief that he is never alone, that God is there no matter what, but he will be the first to admit that it’s difficult to hold on to this belief when the only light is the hall light that his brother forgot to turn off, when the only noise is the rush of cars on the highway, hundreds of people with hundreds of lives who couldn’t care less about his.

it is selfish, perhaps, to want people to care, but he still does. he keeps it to himself, just like he does everything else.

it is the middle of the night, and he sits up, blinking away sleep. he doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he knows it must be something wrong, because why else would he wake up? unsure what form of forgiveness to pray for, he picks up his bible and traces the words imprinted on the cover, and he prays.

his house is large enough that all its inhabitants are spread out, the result of three of his older brothers moving out–he liked it better when each room had an inhabitant, because he could hear the movement and know that someone was there, even if they weren’t there for him.

that, too, is selfish, isn’t it? no one should be expected to be there for him, especially not in the middle of the night.

* * *

 it is the middle of the night, and his roommate at promise does his best to enter quietly. mark is already awake, though, and the effort is meaningless; still, he accepts adam’s apology graciously, because that is better than admitting he is still victim to the insomnia that plagued him at home.

it’s different at promise, because adam sleeps only a few feet away, and starlight filters into the window. mark stares at the ceiling, absentmindedly tracing the words imprinted on the cover of his bible. he listens to the crickets and cicadas, and he tries to calm his heart, which races even when he is otherwise calm.

it is easier to feel as though he isn’t alone here. he certainly isn’t the only person with this problem, this flaw–that’s everyone here. closer to nature, too–and what better way to be close to God than when surrounded by that which He has made?

sometimes, when things get absolutely unbearable, when he feels as though he may choke on the sin he is entangled in, he sneaks out to sit by the lake. it is far from romantic–he is bitten by mosquitoes, and his surroundings are still muggy, nothing like the crisp night air of nebraska.

but he can pray, and he can recite Bible verses, and for a moment, he can be isolated without being alone. eventually, he has to return to his room. after all, it is the middle of the night.

* * *

 it is the middle of the night, and his roommate is asleep. mark is supposed to be asleep, as well. he promised lydia and rick he would get some rest. he promised. he promised a lot of things, though, he promised his father he would get better, he promised himself he would improve, he promised, he promised, he promised.

they call this place promise. that’s funny, isn’t it? so many promises. promise to protect, to save, to package up nice and pretty and send them on their way. all anyone does is promise, and he hasn’t found much stock in any of them.

his dad promised his stay would only be a few months, but that was a year and a half ago, but _that’s your own fault, that’s your own fault, mark._

where is he? what is he doing? he had a plan, he had a reason for this–his roommate’s razor is set on a desk almost neatly, right in front of his bible. he’s holding bleach, why is he holding bleach? why can’t he get his thoughts together? he had a plan, he wouldn’t get these things if he didn’t have a plan.

with his free hand, he traces the words imprinted on the cover of his bible, and he remembers, he knows what he is doing, this is a good idea, it’ll help him keep all his promises. it is dark, and he can’t see what he is doing, but he thinks it doesn’t matter, because he’s not even sure if he’s actually doing this or just imagining it–it doesn’t hurt as much as he would’ve thought, so maybe he isn’t. maybe it’s another dream.

and then the pain hits, and it is blinding, and he comes to in a car rushing down the highway. he sill isn’t sure about his surroundings, but as he fades back out, he wonders what they could be doing in the middle of the night.

* * *

 nearly twenty-four hours later, it is the middle of the night. he wakes up, and his nose has a tube in it, and there’s an iv, and the lighting comes from crisp lights in the hallway. his body doesn’t hurt as much as it did, so that’s something.

perhaps he should call someone, get a nurse or something in here to tell him what the story is, but it is the middle of the night, and he doesn’t want to bother them, not right now. he tries to shift his weight and winces, but bears through long enough to sit up and squint at his surroundings. the room is empty, a curtain pulled around one half of it.  
on the table beside him, there are two bibles, one a standard hospital issue and one the cracked leather and worn edges that he has carried around with him for a decade. he reaches out for it, starts to trace the words imprinted on the cover, but the ridges he’s long since established in his muscle memory seem unfamiliar now. he tries to pray, but the words feel hollow. it certainly doesn’t seem like anyone’s listening.

it is the middle of the night, and he is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like what i do, check out my profile! also, i really love hearing y'all's thoughts, so please don't hesitate to comment!


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